


Vibrancy

by discordantmelody



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-04-27 02:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14415216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discordantmelody/pseuds/discordantmelody
Summary: Adventures in a new reality for our men in grey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to danny and cheese for fueling my angsty writing.

They popped into the house, heads spinning from the sudden transportation. It had been unbearably bright, then it had faded to the normal grey tones he was used to. Smith looked around, taking in the scene. He stood stock still, head aching as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. 

Color.

The walls were cream, the carpet a muted peach, why did he /know/ all of these words when he hadn’t seen anything like this before? There was someone on their back a few feet away, chest rising and falling as he… slept. Odd, when the others were dead. He bent down to inspect while Chief took care of the more gory ones, curious fingers hesitating before pushing up the stranger’s glasses. Outside of the grey aura of his finger, he saw a most stunning brown, and Smith jerked his hand away as he realized that his touch could possibly taint this wonderfully many-hued individual. The stranger’s soft skin faded back to that lovely pale pink, and the show went on.

-

“Let’s go see if our new home has a police station.” They walked out of the house and it stopped both of them in their tracks. Outside… It was blue. Blue sky. White clouds. Back home, it always was a grey sky, flat grey clouds that just ruined the entire day when you looked at it. 

This, however, made him want to cry. 

He turned to Chief, eyes wide and a grin on his face so incredibly happy his face threatened to split. The older man was smiling as well, a sight he had seen very few times. He extended an arm around Smith’s shoulders, and they stood together in the warmth of the new reality. It wasn’t dark and dreary, not cold and damp-- it was happy. Smith broke from his half-hug and leapt onto the grass, staining his shirt would-be green in the process. It just… got a little greyer. But, he didn’t care. The grass was /green/, and it was /soft/ and he laughed like he was a little kid allowed to go outside for the first time after a bout of illness. Smith sat up, laughing breathlessly. When he opened his eye again, he saw a familiar grey hand reaching towards him. Calloused and worn, but always beyond soft with him. 

“I know you’re excited, but we can’t stay here forever. C’mon, there’s a big field lookin’ place up ahead. You’ll love it, kid.” His gruff voice sounds like it does on his best days and Smith is elated, happy enough that he feels like he’s floating. 

“Can’t wait!” They walked on the sand colored sidewalk down to a place titled ‘Riftdale Park’, where there was a field full of bright yellow dandelions. Smith crouched to look at one.

This beauty deserved a pun. “You know, my eyes hurt a little from these flowers, but they’re sure growing on me!” WIth that, the flower became the size of his head. He plucked it right off the stem and held it to his chest as if he were a bride with a bouquet. 

That earned him a small laugh from Chief. “I’m glad you like them. Let’s get goin’, though. I don’t want to be out after dark with no place to stay.”

-

The headquarters of the RDPD were like a little slice of home to them as they walked inside, if home had been taken from some science fiction movie. There were so many people and their technology was so crazy so it didn’t take long for Smith to become entranced with looking at everything they owned. He was only snapped out of paging through a magazine at the front desk when he was called over by Chief. Time for their testing. He hadn’t thought it would be so quick, but he didn’t mind. He took his training seriously, after all!

-

Smith sat outside the RDPD police chief’s office, listening to the muffled words within. His throat still ached from when he had tried to tell Chief he had failed the third part of their test and was too choked up to speak. It had resulted in his Chief telling him not to worry and going to have a chat with the other chief. So, he was left staring out of the window, watching the sun go down.   
If he hadn’t been so emotional already, he would have been fine. But he wasn’t. Smith felt tears roll down his cheeks, holding the dandelion he had picked to his chest as he saw the sky turn from brilliant blue to hazy purple, then dark orange and yellow to an inky black. The moon was full, and he felt a little better seeing it.  
Chief emerged from the office, and Smith quickly swiped the back of his wrist over his eyes.   
“C’mon kiddo. Let’s go find a motel. It’s all alright now.” He clapped a hand on Smith’s shoulder and Smith felt some of his tension fall away.  
“I’m--?”

“I’ll explain as we walk.” 

This was going to be awesome! A new town, a new reality, and he was officially technically a police officer!

-

He walked into the kitchen of their shared apartment, looking around quizzically. 

“Chief?” Came his call, but there wasn’t an answer. Smith let out a sigh and sat at the table, shaking his head. Silly Chief, probably just working late again. Smith had been sent home after he had picked up dinner for the station, but he didn’t know why. It had taken longer than usual to walk home, his normal route was blocked off by a blockade of black vans. Odd! He had passed by the Riftdale Library, and the local Wawa, and there wasn’t any trouble there in the west side of town. Huh. Guess something had happened in the east side. Probably just a burst fire hydrant or something out of the police’s jurisdiction. 

He hoped, anyway. If there was a car accident, he’d hate to not be able to respond and do damage control. That’s what he was best at! Talking to victims. Apparently he had that effect on people, according to miss Dispatch. But... he would have received an alert if it had been an accident. It was probably fine, he didn’t need to worry. 

Chief came home late that night. It was nearly three in the morning when he walked in the front door, hunched over and quickly shutting the door behind him. Chief drew the curtains, and Smith looked up at him.

“Hey there, Chief!” His greeting was perky but audibly tired. After all, he wasn’t used to being up this late! 

“Glad you’re up. We need to go. Now.” Chief sounded tired, too tired, and the younger Grey rushed over to check on his mentor. 

 

Smith cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing. “Why? I thought-- I thought the station was okay with us?”

“Let’s just say I found some things I shouldn’t have, and we gotta go. Leave all you can and meet back right here when you’re done.” With that the elder man was gone, and Smith was left dumbly standing in the front room. “Hurry! We only have a few minutes!” 

They were in the car within the next five, and Smith felt his hands start to shake as Chief began to drive towards the city limits. 

“...Why are we leaving, Chief?” Smith didn’t realize how tiny his voice was until he got a grunted “eh?” in response.

 

“I asked why we’re leaving Riftdale.” Chief’s brows furrowed and his lips screwed into a scowl. 

“Things aren’t how they should be. The station-- all of the other officers, they’ve been disappearing and coming back a day later. Methodically, over the past few weeks. I’m not letting that happen to us. We aren’t getting taken by /them/.”

“Them?”

“It’s called Oculus. They’re in the town. They’re pulling the strings. Remember how we’ve been losing all the digital files?” Chief made a sharp turn, and Smith felt his hands grip the seat of the car.

“It’s them. They’re working with the Priest. The station is helping him if they’re… changed, like they are. It’s sick. We’re leaving. We can find somewhere else, we’ll be okay. We’ll be safe.” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. A black van pulled onto the road in front of them, and all Smith could see was red. Chief slammed on the brakes as he tried to back up but it was too late. There were vans behind them now, a distorted voice coming through the car speakers.

“DO NOT RESIST. WE ARE HERE TO HELP. STAND DOWN. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SHOOT.” This repeated on and on, and Chief looked like he was about to cry. Smith lifted a hand to comfort his oldest friend and got pulled against the chest of his Chief. He felt stubble against the bridge of his nose and the softest of kisses was planted on his forehead. 

“Don’t get out of this car, Smith. No matter what you see. Promise me.” The gravelly voice of Chief was grave, more solemn than he’d ever heard in his life.

“No, please, I-”

He was gone. Chief emerged from the car, gun in his shaky hands. 

Smith knew he wouldn’t shoot.

“PUT THE WEAPON DOWN. IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY, LETHAL FORCE WILL BE USED.” 

Chief clicked the safety off. 

Smith slid over to the driver’s seat, hand on the door handle just as he saw a white flash from the van that had stopped them. 

He saw red fly everywhere. 

Coppery, sticky, /ugly/ red.

He slid out from the car and went to his knees, grabbing the limp body of his Chief as warm blood washed over his hands. Black until it reached the ground, where it turned that disgusting crimson he came to loathe in that instant. 

Smith heard footsteps and cowered, his face pressing into Chief’s neck which was starting to grow cold.

A beat. “You want him?” Another moment of silence. “Got it. Grab him, D. He’s coming to headquarters.” Rough hands grabbed his sleeve and Smith let out a sob, trying to wrench his arm away from the firm grip the agent had on him.

“Look what you bastards did!” He kept struggling, tears streaming down his face. “You killed him! He was better than everyone else in this town and you FUCKING killed him!” He saw a woman with brown curly hair step in front of his curled up form as he was tossed into the van. She held up what looked like a remote, and someone grabbed him from behind. A third set of hands grabbed at his head, fingers ripping off his eyepatch to expose the gaping hole.

The last thing that Smith ever saw was a red flash.

-

A grey man opened his eyes, his head pounding as red lights filled the room. He blinked a few times, then winced as a distorted voice came on over a loudspeaker.

“Welcome, Agent Paronomasia.”


	2. Waking Up

Chief awoke with a searing pain in his chest, all attempts to move seemingly moot. He couldn't see, but he could hear footsteps. He made an attempt to speak, but all that came out was a raspy wheeze.

"Don't try to talk." Something began to drip into his mouth, and Chief realized it was sweet, cool water. After a few moments he felt a soft hand on his brow. Not Smith. He knew that kid anywhere, and the way this stranger's hand interfered with the aura of grey around him instead of melding easily let him know it wasn't his kiddo.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner. I heard you over my radio monitor but I didn't realize how close they were." He sees a faint glint somewhere above him as a wet cloth lays itself over his eyes. "Your lung is punctured. They missed the heart, but just barely. Must have been a new guy."

Must have been a new guy.

Chief immediately started to sit up, but a gentle hand laid itself on his chest. "Woah there. I can get you to reclining, but that's it. No sitting up fully until I can make sure your lung won’t start to fill again. You’ve been out for a few days.” He follows the hand up to the owner of it, a frazzled looking younger guy with a ridiculous hat on. His glasses are skewed regardless of the attempts made to fix them, his hair was a mess-- all around, a guy Chief never would have imagined himself falling in with. He supposed with the way things were going, he couldn’t complain.  
After all, he could be dead. Death was something he had a fear of, like anyone else, but he had always accepted that it was going to happen someday, probably sooner than most due to his line of work. However, getting this close to it made him realize a few things.

He had so many regrets, and he had a mission.

“I know you’re curious. It’s been a few days. The Resistance, we don’t have many supplies but you seemed like a worthy cause. You’re… Like me.” The memories come rushing back. The house. The laugh tracks. That damned cat and his handler, god if he had realized then how this would turn out he would have tried harder to go home. Trying harder meaning trying at all. Smith was so happy here. The sunshine, the flowers, the vibrant colors all around them-- It made Smith into this happy-go-lucky puppy of an adult, even if he was barely one.   
Then, memories rushed back from the last thing he remembered. Smith. Scared. He had let the kid know he loved him, right?  
Chief felt the tissue on his face from the tinfoil apparel wearing man before he realized the tears were streaming down his face. He remembered hearing the gunshot, and the pain, and Smith coming for him, but then it all went dark. His lips repeated the name over and over until a finger settled onto them.  
“I’m sorry. They-- they took your friend. I know you didn’t want to hear it, but… it’s true. They’ve taken a couple of us. Some of us even got taken back! I used to be an operative for them, but I circumvented the programming with this handy thing.” He gestures to the hat. “Oh! You can call me Claire. It’s not my real name, I don’t have one, but it’s the short for my codename.” His grin was sheepish, embarrassed that he forgot to introduce himself.  
Claire talked a lot.   
“So, after we get you cleared to start walking around, we can start introducing you to our other members. That is, if you’re planning on joining the Resistance.” A beat. “You are planning to join, right? To get your partner back?”   
Chief nods. Claire brings him the water again. His throat hurts, but now that he knows what injuries he sustained he can suspect it’s from intubation. A few weak swallows later and he’s able to speak in barely a whisper.  
“How long? Until we can… rescue him.” He rasps, and Claire thought for a second.  
“Well, they’ll be expecting us. So, a few weeks. The reconditioning takes a while, but they like sending them out as soon as possible to get field experience.”   
Reconditioning…? God, Smith, don’t let them steal your smile.  
The former agent looks towards the door. “I have to go.” He pressed a small item into Chief’s hand. “Push the button on top if you need anything. Don’t get up on your own, someone will come help you if you need to.” And then the sweater wearing man was gone.  
Chief was alone with his thoughts.  
He tried to stop thinking about Smith, about how he felt the pressure of another body on him and heard the anguished screams of a man-- no, a boy-- who had lost his only connection to their home reality. Tried not to think about how his Smith was gone, was a pawn for Oculus, used as a throwaway for their cause. What cause? Why would they want to rule Riftdale, of all places?   
That gave him pause in his makeshift hospital bed brooding. What did Riftdale have, besides a lot of odd folks?   
He would have snapped his fingers if he had the strength to when he realized it. Dimensions. He was brought here by an extradimensional being, some being that tore him and Smith-- as well as the others in that house-- from their homes. They all centralized… here. Riftdale was a crossroads then? No, because as far as Chief knew, they couldn’t leave. Not unless.  
Not unless they had some catalyst from another reality.  
Claire, Smith-- both from realities other than this one. They wanted them.  
Chief felt anger wash over him as he grit his teeth. The thought of that filthy, slimy EYE getting its hands on his home made his blood boil. He may not have loved it there but it was a hell of a lot better the way it was than the version that Oculus would implement. 

He didn’t realize his fists were clenched and he had pressed the button until Claire and a woman in scrubs came in. She came over to him, and his face flushed with embarrassment. Lost his temper so easily when it came to the things he loved. Her voice was soothing, making his rage slowly wash away like sand getting drawn into the sea by the waves. “Our resident doctor, Sanative. Nat. She’s a wonder, isn’t she?” Claire was proud, as if he was the reason she was so useful. The woman’s voice was soft as she rested a gentle hand on Chief’s bandaged chest. “May I take a look?”  
The grey man simply nodded, letting himself relax as Nat took him under her care.


	3. Chapter 3

Once Nat had cleared him for walking around the base, Chief was gone. He had been feeling like a caged animal cooped up in his room for the past three days. With directions from Sanative, the grey man found the main common room where the rest of the team had set up a base. This room, however, was empty save for the leader of the team. Claire perked up once he came into the room, and he walked over to the older man with a slight grin on his face. 

“Feeling alright? Nat cleared you, correct?” His hat is askew in the opposite way of his glasses, making Chief feel the need to adjust them like he was fixing Smith’s hair or patch. He internally winced, feeling that familiar lump in his throat start to swell at the thought of his partner. It took him a moment to respond, hand coming up to push his mussed hair back and hide the tears that were coming to his eyes. Dammit, he thought he was over this. He had cried, alone in the bed, late at night after Nat had left. It had made his punctured lung scream in pain but he’d kept quiet. He didn’t need to have these people see him cry. Not these kids. Claire had to be around Smith’s age, and--

Keep it together, Chief.

“Yeah, said I’m good to go. Said I could get some food here before we get to planning?” His voice is still soft and more gravelly than before. Claire nods and leads him into a small room off to the side of the main one. It’s a small kitchen, with a lot of perishables on shelves and in open cabinets. There’s a person stirring a pot on the stove, and they turned around to reveal a smiling face. 

“Hey, Suri. Chief, this is Surreptitious.” They extended a hand towards Chief and he shook it. They gave him a once over and turned back to their cooking. “I hope you two are alright with pasta again. We haven’t been able to go get meat in a while.” 

Chief nodded, his stomach growling at the mention of food. This caused his face to darken, becoming a few shades darker grey as he saw Suri stifling a laugh. He disliked being so human, being human forced him to take care of a body and not just focus on his prime directive; getting Smith back. Claire led him out of the kitchen then, down a long and narrow hallway to see an open door at the very end of it. 

Upon entering the room, Chief appreciates the decor. Or, the lack of any. The man sitting at the table inside is surrounded by papers, those digital computer screens lining one wall and a huge corkboard on the other. Various pieces of paper, trinkets, and photos were pinned to the board with string connecting various points. It looked suspiciously like something Claire would set up, if Chief were to assume he followed the stereotype of theorist to a T. The man sitting at the table rose, his dark hair buzzed short and dark brown eyes shadowed by a heavy brow. He was broader than Chief, but had the presence of a man who wasn’t as… haunted. A young man with a spring in his step not worn away by age or the things he's seen. 

“Here’s the man of the hour! The name’s Blitz, call me Billy. Or Bill, if you’d prefer.” His voice betrayed how young he was, god were all these rebellions led by twenty-somethings now? Regardless, Chief stuck out a hand and Billy shook it firmly. “We’re just analyzing some stuff. Millie has the bullet in her lab, I’m working on some theories and plans but I’ve been stuck.”  
The word theory came out and Claire perked up, showing excitement akin to a puppy getting shown a ball. He crossed to the corkboard and Billy looked to Chief. “Now that he’s ready, I’ve got some questions for you. You’re one of the only people to not get taken down by the snipers. You should have died. Any idea why you didn’t? Ever notice you don’t get hurt by certain things or something of that matter?” The frank tone threw the grey man off for a moment. 

“Are you askin’ if I have superpowers or somethin’?” It sounded dumb as soon as it left his lips but Blitz perked right up and nodded. “Wait, seriously?”

“Dead serious. We’re all abnormal. I’ve got what they call the ‘super-soldier package’, Suri can make people forget they’ve seen her, and Millie’s got this intuition that lets her absorb skills. Claire’s got the power to absorb tons of information from almost nothing, and can get smatterings of the future. All futures, rather. Good ones, bad ones…” Blitz says it all so matter-of-factly Chief can’t tell if he’s joking. He wasn’t, it turned out, as Claire turned and looked at them both. There were a few thumbtacks in his mouth, and a ball of string in his hands. 

“He doesn’t believe you.” The tinfoil wearing man turned around again and Chief shrugged, which made him wince. “I just… I dunno. I think it might have to do with me n’ him knowing each other.” 

Billy’s head snapped to look at Claire. Claire turned around and looked at him back, cheeks pinking.  
“I may have forgotten to put that note sheet in your box. Sorry.” Billy let out a long sigh and Chief nearly laughed. He thought for a moment as Billy pulled out a pad of paper, then waited for a nod from the other man before speaking.

“I’m not from this reality. Shocking, I know, being greyscale and all must have had you thinking I was a local. Where we come from, everything’s grey. My partner and I got assigned to a mysterious case in a remote location, drove out there, met up with some weird artist guy and then was sent here by…” He put his hand on his forehead, which slid down to pinch the bridge of his nose. “An extra-dimensional cat who was hellbent on making us perform for him. So after that whole debacle, Smith and I left and got a job over at the RDPD.” 

Blitz nodded, quickly writing every detail down. Extradimensional beings were a rarity, especially since they had stopped seeing Claire's Dad around. “Please, continue. After you were accepted into the police department?”

“We started chasin’ this guy called the Priest, since all he wears is this… I dunno what it’s called, but it’s one a’ them collar things and dress slacks.” A scowl replaced the neutral expression the older man had. “Son of a bitch had escaped us every time we went after him. And after we filed a report, we'd find the reports gone and the entire RDPD had no clue what I was talking about. I'd have to explain every time that he was a murderer, a con, a kidnapper, and probably among other things as well. They'd get shocked, we would be put on the case, rinse and repeat. I started rootin’ around in some of the files, then, after everyone had left one night. Just after I turned in my report.” Chief looked down at the board, a symbol on a piece of paper staring at him. “I didn't find anything, but I saw someone come in on one of the cameras. They wore a black suit, had a red tie, and took one of our best-- Her name's Susan-- and stuck her head in this thing and when it came off she fainted. She woke up and had no memory of it when I checked on her.” 

Chief picked up his hand and rested his head on it, rubbing his temples. He hated seeing Susan like that. She as bright as could be and quick as a whip normally but after the reprogramming she was… Dull. Lifeless. At least, for that first hour or two. He'd left her and then immediately gone to get Smith and try to leave the town. 

Billy put a hand on his shoulder, and Chief snapped out of his melancholy. He shook his head and shrugged it off. 

“I'm sorry.” The man across the table was somber. The room was silent until a pair of figures walked in, the smell of pasta coming with them. Suri held a platter with plates on it, and the other person- a woman with short blonde hair- held a pitcher of water. 

“Ah! The last member of our team. Meet Multifacet, or Millie. Our jack-of-all-trades, but specializes in strategy and tactics. She's a mastermind.” The woman extended a hand to him and Chief shook it, nodding to her. 

“Dinner is served, kiddos.” Her voice was sing-song as she set down the water, Suri passing out plates of delicious smelling food. Chief looked at them all pulling up chairs, and felt the aura of a family sitting down to dinner after a very long day. 

These people would help him find Smith. He knew it. They had to. 

I'm coming, Smith.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part one of this whole dealio.

“YOU ARE SAFE. TRUST IN OCULUS. YOU ARE SAFE. TRUST IN OCULUS.”

It never stopped. Smith didn’t know how long it had been. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen daylight. All he could see was the red reflecting off of his skin, feel the pounding in his head as the speaker blared on and on, repeating the message to make him believe it. How many days had he been locked inside of this room? He had woken up in here after seeing Chief shot dead but how long ago was that?

He didn’t know. All he knew was the voice on the speaker.

“YOU ARE SAFE. TRUST IN OCULUS. YOU ARE SAFE. TRUST IN OCULUS.”

He couldn’t cry any longer. He was dehydrated from the heat constantly in the room, could barely keep himself propped up against the wall, but he didn’t trust the food. Not after he had blacked out after eating it the first time. Still, his dry, cracked lips kept mouthing the same words, trying to keep the indoctrination out of his mind. 

Chief, I’m sorry.

He had let the older man die. He had disobeyed direct orders and had gotten his closest friend and father figure killed. They had stripped him of everything he had held onto, from physical things like his clothes and his eyepatch to the one man who had cared about him ever since they had met.

“YOU ARE SAFE. TRUST IN OCULUS. YOU ARE SAFE. TRUST IN OCULUS.”

The door to the concrete room opened and more red light poured in. The smell of copper tinged the air as a figure stepped into view, their form completely obfuscated by the heavy armor and helmet they wore. Smith shrank back against the concrete wall, but he couldn’t *really* fight. He was made to stand, the pair of shorts he was wearing sticking to his legs from how much he was sweating. Then, a crackle that almost sounded like a laugh came through the voice modifier on the helmet, and Smith was shoved back to the ground. Pain shot up his arm as he fell on his elbow, a wheeze escaping his throat. Then came more pain, a burning bile rising in his throat as a steel toed boot hit his exposed stomach. 

“You’re disgusting.” Said the guard, raising one glove. A glint at the fingertip made the young man cower as best as he could but it was too late. The needle pressed against the side of his throat and Smith felt darkness take over his vision.  
-  
When Smith had first woken up, he had panicked. He was lying in a circular room nearly naked on what looked like a hospital’s operating table, elevated on an angle. He heard the voice, but didn’t understand what it meant. Paronomasia? What did that mean? 

Then, he heard the second voice. A soft voice, a kind voice. His heart soared and Smith tried to speak up only to find his voice not responding to him. A giggle came from his side, and he turned his unrestrained head to look at the source.

A tall woman with brown hair tied back in a neat bun was gazing at him, her pupils glowing an eerie red. She was looking at him, laughing at his struggles to get free. 

“Hello there.” Her voice seemed to have a calming quality to it. “Don’t speak. I’m here to help you, alright?” Was there a… ringing, in the air? A high pitched noise seemed to be playing, and it made his head begin to ache. 

“There’s something wrong with you, my darling.” She came up to his bed, a cart of tools behind her. He saw a silver glint and his grey eyes went wide. The doctor caught his reaction and laughed, shaking her head. “Ah, I see you’ve seen my tools. Implements of healing, I assure you. You’re anomalous. Unsafe. We can’t have that in one of our own unless it is sanctioned and used for our benefit. I’m sure you understand.”

Maybe he would have, but when she came closer he saw the two lines arcing above and below her irises. These were the people who killed Chief. He writhed to get free, his efforts doubling as she pulled on a pair of long blue surgeon’s gloves. 

“Please, stop struggling. You’re only making yourself look like an idiot.” her hand cupped Smith’s jaw and he glared at her with all the vitriol and loathing he could muster. All that earned him was another laugh. “You’re just so cute. Now, let’s get to work, hm?” 

The doctor turned and picked up a remote from her cart. Upon a press of a button, a band snapped out of the side of the table and held his head in place. She took two fingers and opened up his empty eye socket, looking at the grey membrane inside. She pulled her had away and noted the fading grey on the powder blue. “We can fix this. Then, you will be shown the light.” The ominous tone was offset by her next cheery comment.

“Y’know, normally we have to take out an eye to put this in, but you’re already missing one! Looking at the scarring, it’s incredible that you survived. You’ll be excellent for our use.” A scalpel appeared in her hand, and Smith finally realized the gravity of the situation. Tears began to leak from his eye, and the doctor clucked disapprovingly. “That won’t do. We’ll just have to--” 

The scalpel blade had been coming closer to his socket, aimed at the very center, but though he did feel pain and shut his working eye, nothing happened. 

Her head cocked to the side, and she tried another jab, this time aiming to cut his cheek. A raised white line appeared, but once again there was no blood. The skin didn't even split. Smith winced as he felt the pain but he felt relief. Maybe they would let him go! Maybe he could go home now, since they couldn't change him to help them. 

That hope died when she pulled out a syringe filled with clear liquid. “This, my dearest, will fix our problem.”

Smith's breathing went from panicked to full on hyperventilation, straining against his bonds to get away from the syringe that was rapidly approaching his throat. It pressed against his neck, and if he could have screamed Smith would have shrieked. 

It was as if fire was filling his veins, eye rolling back in his head as agony seared its way through his bloodstream. The doctor watched in delight as the delicate veins under his grey wrist turned black, his skin beginning to bubble like the blood was boiling. Slowly, the desired effect overtook him, and she grabbed the remote in time to tip him forwards. A glass vial was held under his nose, and liquid that was a muted grey began to drip out. Her laughter was gleeful as the young man convulsed. As more grey dripped into the vial, his monochrome palette began to fade. Starting at his extremities, Smith’s hands and feet started slowly fading to a pale pink, brown freckles popping up on his arms as the color crept upwards. Finally, his light grey hair turned a soft strawberry blonde and the last of his grey dripped into the vial. He was unconscious, which was a shame, as the Doctor really liked seeing them fight when she cut into them.

-

After he had lost his power of his grey aura, as well as his puns, Smith felt naked. He kept looking at his hands, touching his hair and his new eye prosthetic. It ached around the socket, but the grafting to the stump of his optic nerve had been perfect. He could see again, but… was it worth it?

He was stuck in a room, his head still foggy from being sedated. Smith was breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut to try and block out the red lights. 

“Tell us how you came here.” Came the voice over the loudspeaker.

Smith glared at the one-way glass. “You killed him.”

“We did not want to. He was going to attack our personnel. It was self defense. We simply want safety for all citizens.” 

“You KILLED him, you--” Pain seared through Smith’s body as the implant in his head shocked him. He screamed, shaking his chair as his body spasmed. His nose was numb, his lips felt swollen, like he had just been given novocaine. 

“You killed him.” The voice said.

“What?” The young man was breathless.

“You promoted unsafe behavior. You caused him to die. Now, tell us where you come from.”

“I’ll never tell you.” Another shock, this one stronger and leaving him gasping for air as his muscles untensed enough for him to breathe.

“You will.”

He couldn’t see straight from the incredible headache he gained when they were done. He had tried to imagine Chief telling him to stay strong, to not give in, but the seed of doubt in his head was planted and festering. Had he really been the cause of death for his only friend?  
It didn’t matter. His cries were silent that night as he was carried off to his room again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part two

How long had he been here?  
Did it even matter anymore?  
Smith woke up with a start as yet another vision of Chief’s blood gushing over his hands played in his dreams. Every time he went to sleep the events of that night would play over and over again, how he had killed his best and only friend by not listening to him, not talking him into not trying to leave, not staying in the /goddamned car/-- 

His Oculus issued shirt was sticky with sweat, the thin white cotton nearly see through from how distressed his nightmare had made him. The dim red lighting showed off his sickly pale skin and made the hairs on Smith’s arms stand on end. He just couldn’t get over how his last connection to Chief had been severed. He felt alone in this reality. 

Though, Oculus always told him he was never alone.

The alarm in his room began to blare, startling Smith as it did every morning. He scrambled to stand up and present himself as the heavy door to his room opened. With his eye implant, he could identify that this was the same guard that had been waking him up for a week now. The guard beckoned and Smith obliged, knowing it was just easier to comply. He would be made to eat and train regardless of if he wanted to or not. 

They stopped using cuffs on him after he stopped fighting. He had realized that the shock delivered through his cybernetic implant combined with the rough handling was worse than the tiny bit of strength he got when he resisted being taken to wherever he was being brought. 

He was brought to a small room where he was made to eat some bland meal that tasted like ash in his mouth. Nothing tasted right anymore, but his hunger spurred him to consume what they put in front of him. There was still hope in his mind, maybe he would be able to avenge his Chief and get revenge on Oc-

“Hurry up. You’re taking too long.” A small shock arced from the implant into his optic nerve and Smith dropped his spoon, head slamming forward and narrowly missing the plate. The spasms never got any better as he couldn’t expect when they were coming. Luckily this had only been a small one.

His shaking hand picked up the spoon again, and Smith finished his breakfast in record time.

After that he was pushed along into a white room with a tile floor, made to strip, and was washed down with icy cold water spraying with too much pressure. It hurt and turned his now pink skin bright red. Then, the dryers came on and he was blasted with hot air and given the heavy uniform of the guards to get dressed in. The outfit was heavy black pants, a heavy black shirt, and a bulletproof vest not unlike the ones him and Chief were supposed to wear when they were on duty. Black combat boots, thick gloves, and a helmet that had nodes that pressed into his temples and at the base of his skull. 

Whenever he caught his own reflection on a surface he winced and looked away. He didn’t want to be one of these monsters. 

The gun they instructed him to pick up was heavy. The constant conditioning they put him through every other day wasn’t helping him build any muscle, but he was in a way glad. He couldn’t be useful if he couldn’t shoot.

Though, when he felt the sharp pain press against a node in the back of his head, horror overtook Smith’s senses. His hands began to move on their own even as pain lanced up and down his arms, tapping into the muscle memory that his police training had given him. This gun was new, modern, unfamiliar in his hands but the basics were the same. When the shock ended, he was shaking. Good, he had his own functions back. The gun was aimed at a target, but the trigger didn’t pull. 

A voice in his helmet spoke to him. “Agent Paronomasia. Execute the target. You have one shot.” 

Smith felt tears in his remaining eye begin to well up. He wouldn’t- no, couldn’t do this.

“Agent Paronomasia.” The voice, modulated and eerie, repeated in his ear. “Execute the target. You have one shot.” 

Smith didn't realize that he was crying until he felt the salty tear slide from his cheek to his neck. The “no” he said was barely audible, below even a whisper. “No,” He repeated, voice shaking. He wouldn't give in. He couldn't-- he would  
be anywhere remotely similar to them. He wasn't a murderer. 

The voice spoke again. “Agent Paronomasia. Execute the target. You have one shot. You have ten seconds to comply.” 

He could hear the tick in his ear, could see the numbers counting down on the screen. 

“Fighting is useless. You have seven seconds to comply.” 

Smith felt his hands start to shake even more, the barrel of the heavy pistol wavering in his grip as it slowly weighed more and more. 

“Do not resist your training. You have four seconds to comply.” 

His breathing hitched and Smith choked down a sob. All he could see in the grey form of the human sized cutout was Chief, but was that even his face? He couldn't remember it-- oh /god/ he was /losing Chief/-- 

“You have--” 

The gun clattered to the table and Smith fell to his knees. His throat burned and his body shook with sobs. A crackle of modulated voice sounded in his ear, almost like a sigh. 

“We did not want to have to do this, Agent Paronomasia. Sclera Agent 8. Execute protocol Neuron.” 

Smith felt the agent approach behind him but didn't fight back. He was exhausted. 

A hand pressed a button he hadn't known was there, pressing the node back against the base of his skull until it broke the skin, his eye prosthetic suddenly beginning to vibrate as it burrowed into his eye socket. The feeling of needles pricking his skin went away as Smith sucked in a shuddering gasp. His hands felt cold, lips going numb and arms feeling like sandbags. 

After a moment, he heard the voice again. It echoed in his head and when it said to stand, he did.  
It said to pick up the gun.  
Smith picked up the gun.  
It said shoot.  
He fired.


End file.
